


Like a Bird Without Song (and a Nest Without a Heart)

by Leopardtail



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: American Sign Language, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, But it's very light, Fluff, I try not to treat it like there is an "old" Peter, M/M, Mute!Peter Parker, Natasha has a bit of a moment at the beginning but it's not addressed much after, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker has PTSD, Possessive Bucky Barnes, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Bucky Barnes, Slow Burn (kinda), Slow Dancing, Soft Peter Parker, They’re in different stages of recovery/coping with it, Tony and Bucky are hinted at not being big fans of each other but its nothing major, author has ptsd, avengers as a family, similes and metaphors abound, simply old traits that are trying to be brought back to the forefront, the fact that there is a tag for that concerns me about this boys well being, tony and steve are well meaning but very bad at this, traumatic event is not explored
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:55:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23314270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leopardtail/pseuds/Leopardtail
Summary: After the team recovers Peter it becomes an uphill battle against the trauma he endured. Unable to pinpoint the exact source, the team has little hope of bringing him back.Enter Bucky Barnes.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Peter Parker
Comments: 23
Kudos: 473





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I blame ru17 (send-me-hcs on tumblr) for getting me to write this lol. Hope y'all enjoy!

Tony was the one who found him. Tied to a chair with rope he could have easily snapped through, with his head tipped back towards the stars. Completely nude, no one could see anything wrong, but that meant nothing when your skin could smooth over a puncture wound in moments. 

Natasha was the first to try and touch him. A gentle hand on his shoulder and for fleeting seconds, she feared he was gone. Glassy eyes looked past her into a space where no one could follow him. Her hand moved to his cheek, she called his name. Something clicked. The spiderling, not just her surrogate child but the team’s, opened his mouth. A wail, silent as the dead but nearly deafening when looked upon, flowed invisibly from his lips. Memories of similar horrors, old and locked away bashed through her skull at the sight. She couldn’t bear to touch him. Retracted feet in distance but emotions miles as she watched an old scene played by a different face. 

“He can’t speak.” Those words plunged the room into dread. Tony, desperate to know why, berated her with questions she could not answer. The feeling was in her bones and could not be explained to those who had never felt them. 

Strange looked for vocal cord damage, scarring, vibration that led to no sound to suggest Peter was trying to speak, but found nothing. The look, the face of a wailing loved one, remained. They flew him to the tower, tried their hardest to understand, but without words there was nothing to show for the silence. 

_______

“Someone needs to go the fuck in there and fix this shit.” Tony pointed at the door, behind which stood a problem that could not be solved with the greatest minds in the nation. 

“I spent years making these situations for others, I don’t know if I could do much to reverse it.” Natasha stood uncomfortably still, as though anticipating something no one else in the room could detect. 

Bucky stood in the corner, watching the conversation between the two. Occasionally his eyes drew towards the door behind Stark. Memories, bordering on flashbacks, played of his own isolation. The old, cold fear rolled like a ghost in his gut. Rumbling behind the door, shaking it on its hinges with a noise only Bucky could hear. 

Kicking off the wall, Bucky ignored the babbling between the two. “I’ll sit with him.” Metal hand resting against the doorknob, halfway through the turn before Tony’s voice shrilly cut through the space.

“Oh, fuck no you’re not. He lost his shit with Natasha, you really think another assassin with a kill sheet a mile long is gonna make him feel any better?”

“Well it sure as hell won’t make it worse.” Bucky ignored Stark’s squawking, opening the door and slipping inside before anyone could try and stop him. 

The room was dark and on the verge of being too cold. The normally cluttered and cheery walls of Peter’s space were stripped bare after Tony spent two nights wide awake, terrified that Peter would try and stab himself to death with a thumbtack. Bucky had rolled his eyes when Steve mentioned it.  _ “It’ll just make him feel like a prisoner,”  _ was all he said before going back to knocking a punching bag around for thirty minutes in silence. 

Thin, blunt lines scrawled their marks along the wall of the bed. Growing dense around a corner where a ball had shoved itself face first into the wall, hiding. One of Clint’s sweaters hanging off lithe shoulders, pale as milk. The faint odor of copper drifted, hidden under the butter cookie scent that normally hung around the kid. It was hard to look at. Too similar to moments of his past for comfort, while still being miles away. 

A chair sat by the bed, waiting for its next guard. Caging the traumatized teen in towards the bed. Bucky wanted to throw the fucking thing out the window. 

Instead, he pulled it away from Peter, watched as the flesh between his shoulder blades gave the barest twitch before seizing. Bucky didn’t say anything, knowing that sometimes the worst torture is stimulation. 

He stationed himself in a clearly visible angle that put him against the wall, facing the foot of the bed. He stayed there, leaning his head back and resting against the wall, taking his attention away from Peter and instead drifting in his own thoughts, passively listening for any changes. 

It took an hour before the gentle shifts came to Bucky’s ears. He could practically hear muscles relaxing and tension vacating the fragile body. No amount of healing factor could change Bucky’s mind on the bird-boned status he’d assigned to the kid. Have to break easy to heal quickly when you’re slimmer than a pencil. 

They didn’t speak, ruminating in the silence of each other’s company while the minutes ticked by on their merry way to a better time. There were moments Bucky could  _ feel  _ eyes watching him, waiting for the other shoe to drop, not realizing Bucky had chucked it out the window the second he set foot in the room. He may have been a monster, but if that was the price it took to kill those hiding under the bed, then so be it. 

_____

Progress was practically nonexistent. Therapist after therapist filtered in and out of the room. They all said the same thing, PTSD, no longer verbal. It frustrated the team to no end, sent Tony practically climbing up walls and locked in the basement, trying to figure out some way to out-think this. Bucky didn’t bother telling him he couldn’t. 

Bucky sat vigil in Peter’s room during the evening, bringing meals when he could. Sometimes he wondered if their time together was the only quiet he got. Someone was always watching over him, Steve and Tony equally terrified that Peter would crumble to dust if left unattended. Bucky didn’t know how Peter reacted to anyone else, but whenever he came in, he could see the slightest shift. A shift that even his well-trained eye only caught the barest hint of. Always happening when the kid seemed to realize Bucky was the one to stand guard. 

They never spoke. It was their rule, in a way. Bucky let him have his silence and Peter gradually softened, falling like over-proofed dough sagging under its own weight. It took a month before Peter fell asleep the first time. Curled into a ball, settling on a nest of blankets, gifts from Natasha. 

The second time he woke up with that horrible, silent scream. The ‘o’ shaped mouth and wide, frightened eyes, the breathing of a frightened animal. It haunted Bucky for days the first time he saw it. Crawled up his spine and shook him into a rage he couldn’t place the source of. Bucky wouldn’t touch him, knowing the licking flames of fingers in fright. Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed, letting his weight signal his presence. Watched the small man make himself tiny. 

_____

The nightmares became regular, as did Peter falling asleep. The only moments he seemed to rest were when Bucky holed himself up in the corner and wandered in his own mind or read a book Sam had shoved into his hand. Every time the shaking began, the silent screaming that had engraved itself into Bucky’s mind, he sat on the bed. 

He didn’t notice it at first, it was as though it happened in such small increments he had no way of knowing until it happened. One night, a night Bucky could not pinpoint, the ball got looser. Slowly, cream-colored toes inched their way towards him. Crept up on him until he nearly grabbed and snapped the ankle in surprised retaliation. 

Eventually, a foot rested against Bucky’s thigh after every nightmare, even after they subsided. It didn’t progress much farther than that, not for a long time.

_____

It was a normal day for the pair. Little had changed in their routine since it started, unless Peter led the way, Bucky kept doing what was normal for them. It was quiet and dim. Tony or Steve usually came in and opened the windows at least once a day in the hopes it would help Peter’s mood, but he always seemed more on edge than not when he could see and hear the roaring city below. Bucky closed it every time he came in. Stopped bothering with arguing with the pair of idiots who seemed to think beating their head against a wall was the best way to get to the other side. 

Peter was laid out on the bed. Awake and tracing patterns into the wall. Bucky went to his chair, because at this point that’s what it was. He was about to sit when he heard Peter shift. When he saw Peter, he froze. Sitting up and looking straight at him, it was the first time Peter had actively acknowledged him in months. Buck didn’t even dare breathe, as though Peter was a frightened doe seconds from splitting. 

A hand reached out to him, palm up as delicate fingers curled towards their owner. The universal signal for ‘come here.’ 

Steady and with a feigned confidence, Bucky made his way over to the bed and carefully settled himself on the edge. The hand moved faster, urging Bucky to come closer. When Bucky only crept a few inches closer, that hand started gently pulling on his belt loop. Giving in, he got closer until the little spider seemed satisfied. He was woefully unprepared for the lapful he was suddenly presented with as Peter wedged himself between Bucky’s legs, forcing the man to shift into the center of the bed to avoid getting a knee to the groin. A quiet sigh, more air than sound and a forehead was pressed into his sternum. The kid tucked under Bucky’s chin, wrapped in a blanket and frighteningly small in his arms. 

Unsure what to do, Bucky chose to remain still. Up until this point, he’d been able to relate to Peter’s need for distance, understanding the body needed as much space as the mind to recover. He’d never sought physical contact like this. Then again, he’d never had the opportunity to do so. 

Peter passed out like that, content to remain right there, safe. Warm, like a tiny heater, Peter kept the chill out of the Winter Soldier’s bones. Baby soft curls, fresh from a Tony-mandated shower, brushed against his skin and reminded him of the fluffy bodies of chicks. Smelled like butter cookies and soap. Made Bucky wonder if Peter took solace in his scent, though he imagined it was nowhere near the pleasantries of baked goods. Couldn’t imagine smelling like anything but fear and death. 

Still, the baby bird remained no matter what Bucky thought. Soft, steady breaths and brows smoothed away from their normal pained bunching. It made Bucky’s heart bleed to see the trust of someone who had endured so much put in someone like him. Even after everything, Peter’s heart still peeked through battered fingers, willing to put trust where no one else would. Daring to push, just this once, he closed his arms around the wounded little thing in his lap. Was stunned to watch it melt further into his chest, as if the final cord of tension had been severed. 

It was in that moment Bucky knew his own body would need to rot seven feet down before another man touched Peter again. 

_____

Asking Peter ‘yes or no’ questions was becoming impractical. Bucky was endlessly frustrated, trying to find a way to make anything and everything as simplistic a question as he could. He’d searched for a solution and felt like an idiot when he finally stumbled across the obvious answer, American Sign Language. 

The first two weeks of his delve into the language were both surprisingly easy and utterly brutal. Some signs he was able to lock in from the jump, but others were complicated and took multiple repeats and blind hope that he wasn’t completely butchering the language. At one point, Steve caught him, pulled right up to a computer monitor trying to memorize the grammar structure for ‘W’ questions. He complained briefly, “Learning Russian was easier than this.”

“You also had it all uploaded into you via brainwashing.”

“Not the point.”

When he finally figured out the basics, he went to Peter. Helped him form his hands into the right shapes, watched him pick it all up so much  _ faster  _ than Bucky. The chickadee may not have its song anymore, but it was happy to find any way it could to get the message across. Peter’s hands practically flew after just a few short hours, words rolling from his fingertips as he practiced. The freedom to convey random emotions and thoughts once again restored. It was all intangible, Peter rarely said anything that took more than a few common place words, but the fact that only he could understand Peter… It was intoxicating in a way that drew so close to being frightening. Yet, Peter was his in all this. Kin in a fight with similar demons. He felt as if he was the only one who truly tried. Like they were giving up on Peter, like they had him once, and now he had to piece this all back together by himself, but at least  _ Peter  _ wasn’t alone. Didn’t have to fight through well-meaning but misguided help. Yes, Peter was Bucky’s, but only for however long this lasted. Chicks always have to grow up. Bucky just hoped he was ready for the rotting twigs of an empty nest when it came.

____

He ended up with Peter touching him somehow more often than not. A cuddling streak Bucky didn’t know the other had in him seemed to be coming out full force. It was awkward at first; the contact foreign to him even after years free of HYDRA. The kid had no problem plopping himself in whatever available space he could find on and around Bucky, though something told him that if he protested, Peter would be quick to jump ship. He wasn’t one to admit it, but he would miss the contact, so he kept his mouth sealed shut. Even on the days he thought he wouldn’t want the contact, he would find his own comfort in the light but grounding weight of Peter. 

The curly-haired menace currently had his head in Bucky’s lap. After a few fruitless attempts to focus on his book, he gave in and set the novel aside. Bored by the silence, he fished out his phone and set it on the second lowest volume, letting the heartsick ballets of his younger years drift through the air. Peter picked up his head and looked at the phone. He began to shift out of Bucky’s lap, and Buck reached to turn off the music. 

_ “Sorry Petey, sho-” _ He was cut off as Peter stood and grabbed the hand Bucky was using to reach for the device, cutting him off mid-sign. With a little bit of that super strength Bucky so often forgot the kid had, he was pulled up to stand. 

_ “Dance with me?”  _ Peter sped through the signs, clearly nervous. 

Bucky nearly melted, could practically hear the soft, quiet tremor of a voice that Peter no longer used.  _ “Of course, doll.”  _ The simple phrases that so usually felt limiting had an intimate, secret quality that Bucky couldn’t get enough of. 

That same trembling, nervous thread ran through Peter as he wrapped his arms around Bucky’s neck. Bucky, reaching over to turn on the music, tried not to let his heart get stuck in his throat where he would choke on it. Every protective instinct  _ howling  _ at him to hide away the vulnerability Peter was showing. Take it and bury it under the covers with his body wrapped around the smaller’s for added protection, to keep it for himself. 

He tried to remember that even here, it was just them. Held together by a bond born of trauma and silence. The first song wasn’t right, too fast, not enough sway. He skipped until he found exactly what he wanted, wrapping his arms around Peter’s waist and giving him a little spin to put them in the center of the room. 

The dreamy melody of a trumpet began its lead in, the solo bringing him memories of a time that didn’t exist. It was a little love song from the 50s, but he liked to believe had he heard it back then he would love it as much as he did now. Armstrong’s “La Vie En Rose” filling the empty air. He swayed Peter back and forth, taking things slow, letting the music set a leisurely pace. Sighed when Peter tucked into his neck and let Bucky lead, trusting him with his body after everything. The room wasn’t big enough for any of the adrenaline-filled, fancy moves of his youth, but lazy circles were a balm to his nerves. He could feel it in Peter, too. 

Peter fell in step easily, kept his body pressed against the hard line of Bucky’s and practically hung off him, their height difference almost too exaggerated to work. A sneaky hand slowly found its way from Bucky’s neck into his hair. Bucky couldn’t resist tucking his chin in and resting his temple against the other’s. Those fingers stayed lax, pressed into the base of the soldier’s skull as if to keep him right where he was. Their bodies flowed with the music, glued together.

_ Hold me close and hold me fast.  _ The few sparse words of the song began to drift amongst the tune. Another set of fingers sank into the waves of Bucky’s hair, hazel eyes turned to look up at him.  _ The magic spell you cast. This is La Vie En Rose.  _ Peter’s head lifted from its perch, Bucky turned his head, attempting to understand why.  _ When you kiss me heaven sighs.  _ Lips, gentle and ever so slightly chapped pressed together, the swaying didn’t stop.  _ And though I close my eyes-- _ Bucky closed his eyes, leaned into the warm heat against him-- _ I see La Vie En Rose.  _ The barest tug as Peter curled his fingers, locking the strands in an iron grip, one that begged Bucky not to leave.  _ When you press me to your heart, I’m in a world apart.  _ Bucky pulled him in tighter, just as scared of letting go.  _ And when you speak, angels sing from above, Everyday words seem to turn into love songs, Give your heart and soul to me, And life will always be "La vie en rose".  _ The roar of trumpets signaled their break away for air. Bucky couldn’t help himself, clutching Peter by the waist and spinning him around the room as the song came to its crashing, joyous conclusion. Matching grins from both of them and laughter, real laughter from his little bird. His heart nearly stopped when three whispered words left that mouth on the tailend of the twinkling bell of his laugh. 

_ “I love you.”  _

And all Bucky could think was maybe the nest wouldn’t be so empty, after all. 

  
  



	2. Moodboard

A mood board made by [starkermoodboards](https://starkermoodboards.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr for this fic! I'm in love with it and I hope y'all get some enjoyment out of it!

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are loved and appreciated!!! 
> 
> My tumblr is https://ceratonia-siliqua.tumblr.com/ if you'd like to follow me! I post all stories on there as well.
> 
> Edit: I realized I completely forgot one of my favorite lines in the whole song so I just edited to include it.


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